Devil In The Details
by slyprentice
Summary: When Hannibal tilts Will's face up, long fingers cupping the rounded curve of his jaw, eyes molten and dark in the low light from the desk lamp, Will knows that things will be


**Title: **Devil in the Details**  
Author:** Prentice  
**Rating**: Mature  
**Fandom**: Hannibal (TV)  
**Pairing**: Hannibal/Will  
**Warning**: _Religious undertones. _  
**Notes**: _This started out as a response to a prompt on the hannibal kink meme but it didn't fit with what the poster wanted so I decided to post it as-is. I hope you enjoy!_

**Summary**: When Hannibal tilts Will's face up, long fingers cupping the rounded curve of his jaw, eyes molten and dark in the low light from the desk lamp, Will knows that things will be different.

* * *

When Hannibal tilts Will's face up, long fingers cupping the rounded curve of his jaw, eyes molten and dark in the low light from the desk lamp, Will knows that things will be different. That this game they are playing, the one with unspoken rules and badly structured guidelines, is over and that neither of them has won nor lost. Not this time, not this round.

"You are tired, good Will," Hannibal murmurs, fingers sliding up and into the hair behind one ear, pulling just slightly; a sharp sting that feels so good. His breath smells sweet against Will's face, a copper-tang that warms the bow of one lip and caresses the slope of one cheek. "So very tired. Not like the last time, I think, when you defied me to the end." A flash of teeth, a smile, dark with promise and sweet with fondness. "Like the good boy you are."

"Yes," Will whispers, eyes fluttering closed. "_Yes_."

"Do you want to try again, Will?" Another pull in his hair, less harsh this time, but just a reminder that it's there, that Will is in his hands. "I told you when we started I would give you as many chances as you wanted. That your – " another pull, hard and sharp and stinging – "_redemption _ out of my arms would be your own." The hand moved then, long – too long – fingers letting go of hair and smoothing to the back of his skull, the soft scrape of fingernails prickling into skin. Breath, too warm to be comfortable, ghosted once more over lips and cheek, a nose nudging the tender crinkles at the corner of one eye. "But only if you wanted it, good Will. Only until you realized…"

"Realized," Will repeats, not quite a question, as he opens his eyes again. Darkness glows back at him, a small smoldering ember that burns far brighter and deeper than any light he's ever seen, dimming the lamp light around them. "I – realized – "

"That you're mine?" Hannibal – no, not Hannibal; not _only_ Hannibal – finishes. Those eyes burn brighter just for a second, an eternal light that reminds Will of burning and flesh, of unbearable cold and the soft hush of wings that sounds like the shuffle of leather and parchment. "I know, Will. But do you?"

Heat brushes Will then, a soft warmth that seems to slide within his clothes, a touch that isn't there but will be one day, maybe, if he gives in. When he gives in. "I – I want – I know - "

"What do you know, Will?" The hand in his hair tilts his head back further, the line of his neck pale and cool. "Tell me."

"I know – " Will breathes, tongue slicking out to touch the edge of his bottom lip. "That I want – "

Lips catch the edge of his own; a feathery softness that pulls something from him, a low noise that is more moan than groan. A temptation. A promise. "What do you want, Will?"

Trembling, Will swallows. The echo of voices, distant now, whisper at the edge of his hearing, too low to be deciphered but there, always there, waiting to welcome them home. "Another – another chance."

Stillness. Silence. The burning of a desk lamp.

Will swallows again, throat so dry, as Hannibal pulls away from him, eyes once again calm and crimson as he puts space between them. Looking down at him with such affection and fondness, Hannibal – _only_ Hannibal, this time – smiles down at him, something that isn't quite humor coloring his next words. "Ah, _good_ Will. My good, good Will, who wants another chance – and then another still – but who already knows who he belongs to and yet keeps fighting. Always fighting, hoping that he'll win."

"Hannibal – " Will starts, voice reedy and thin, but stops when something touches his face, a touch so cold it burns him, excites him, though it can't be seen. Hannibal continues to smile, a pleasant expression that fools so many.

"You will have your chance, good Will, to try and try again. As I promised at our beginning," he pauses, head tilting, and Will tries not to tremble. "But know this, my good sweet Will: you are mine and mine alone. Your soul belongs to _me_ and has done since the beginning of all things between us. You will not escape it. You _cannot_ escape it. You are mine as much as I am yours and one day," another pause, this one longer and filled with promise, the voices and screams of others rising around them, cocooning them in their fate. "One day you will accept it."

"If not for me," Hannibal rumbles, eyes flashing brightly, the voices and the screams rising to an almost unbearable height before ceasing. "Then for yourself. For good, good William, who sold his soul to me so long ago and who continues to be a prize worth chasing."

"Hannibal…"

"Sweet Will."

**END**


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